Blind Fire [SHORT STORY]

Smoke flows in through my nose. I choke, my hacking growing more and more desperate. I make a desperate decision, fueled by adrenaline. My thoughts are hazy. Every part of me wishes I didn't have to do this. My lungs burn as I simply hold my breath and I start going back up. The fuzzy grey is so intense, it feels like I'm swimming in a pool of it. I want to scream, yell, do something. The grey makes me trip over myself as I climb the stairs. Almost as if I'm angry. I don't know who I'm angry with. And that's the worst part. I feel like thrashing and flailing, unable to tell what's where. But the fire is closer than I thought. I bump into it, and I feel the burns and blisters coating my left arm. I cry out, and stumble back, as I begin coughing again. My arm throbs, more intensely than before, and I know that the little scrape from earlier is nothing but an inconvenience. As I step forwards, the extra weight of my left arm throws me off balance, giving my lungs no time to think as I walk straight back into the smoke.